


Oversmuts

by Bool_Ji



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cheesy Romance Music, Explicit Sexual Content, Filled Requests, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding, Sexting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bool_Ji/pseuds/Bool_Ji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of standalone Overwatch porny things.</p>
<p>IN THIS CHAPTER: Horny ronin sometimes have to take matters into their own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Get It On

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request someone asked for on /y/. Not a pairing I initially considered, but I do enjoy fun characters trying to cheer up gloomy ones!

_I’ve been really tryyyiiin’, baby  
Tryin’ to hold back this feeling for soooo looong–_

“You cannot be serious.”

Lucio looks over his shoulder and his heart skips a beat. He’d never figured himself the type to fall headlong for older men, but then Hanzo Shimada came into his life. Neon light from the hotel room window makes his pale skin glow where he lies back, nude as the day he was born, against the silk sheets. The archer specifically asked for a room with several points of escape, just in case, and as funky, baby-making music croons from Lucio’s personal player, he’s clearly thinking of leaving.

Luckily, Lucio knows how to salvage sinking situations. “I can’t do it without, babe,” he says, running his hands along his hips for emphasis. Hanzo watches him with little enthusiasm. “This song’s a classic. You don’t like it?”

Hanzo huffs, leans up on his elbows. Though consenting to take his (very cute, he must admit) lover to bed, the mood Lucio’s aiming for is having the complete opposite effect on his boner. “It’s so old, I can smell mildew.”

Lucio freezes. Staring slack-jawed at Hanzo, he asks, “Was that a joke? Did Hanzo Shimada actually do humor?”

The archer sighs, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Falling headlong for younger men could be highly problematic.

“Okay, okay,” Lucio soothes. The bed dips as he, a small remote, and a tube of lubricant (peach-flavored) joins Hanzo. He coaxes the archer to bend his legs and presses a button on the remote several times. “Let me make it up to you.”

The first thing Hanzo notices about the song that comes on is the strings. Not a shamisen, but similar. Accompanied by a beat Hanzo’s fairly sure is described as chill, he finds himself relaxing against the sheets. He can’t help himself. Especially since Lucio has his head between his legs, his eyes shut, and his tongue worshiping his cock from base to tip.

Lucio’s methodical about his blowjobs. He’s heard every quip about being fast in existence and wants to prove he can take his time. There’s the matter of tempo and he’s quite aware of the pitch – taking Hanzo deep in his throat while gently fondling his balls earns him a hearty groan right on time with the chorus. Pulling off, he laps along the underside, chuckling. He didn’t become a superstar for nothing.

That’s enough from the opening act. Smearing a generous amount of slick on Hanzo’s cock, he straddles the archer’s hips. Fingers rough from drawing bow strings grasp his thigh.

“Do not hurt yourself,” Hanzo warns.

The concern on his face makes Lucio’s heart electric slide into his throat. Smiling, he braces himself on Hanzo’s chest. “Don’t worry. I’m limber.” He gives his pecs a firm squeeze, nipples perking against his palms. “Ooh, babe. Nice and soft.”

Hanzo turns slightly pink, an eyebrow rising, but before he can frown, Lucio carefully drops onto his cock. It aches, it always does, but it’s nothing the musician hasn’t experienced before, especially with Hanzo himself. It’s worth the questionable prep to see the archer red with arousal, sweat starting to bead on his forehead, lips parted around heated breaths. Hanzo’s other hand joins the first on Lucio’s thighs, stroking him gently. It’s watching the play of thick muscles in Hanzo’s arms that bid Lucio to move, to cram as much of this drop dead gorgeous man inside him as possible, to maybe – just maybe – pry up his grim shell for just long enough to–

Hanzo bumps against his prostate and Lucio yelps, clapping a hand over his mouth. His other reflexively grabs his pec again and Hanzo groans, reaching around to cup the musician’s ass.

He lifts him off. “Pardon me–”

The next thing Lucio knows, he’s face down against the mattress with Hanzo pressed firmly behind him. Pumping his hips in time with the music, no less. If Lucio’s world wasn’t reduced to consuming pleasure, he’d laugh. He spares a brief thought to deconstructing genres before giving up on thinking entirely, fisting the sheets, muffling his cries in a pillow. He comes like that, singing, cock untouched entirely. Hanzo mutters a quick apology against his ear before pulling out, stroking himself only a few times before spilling onto the bed.

The archer rolls over, mindful of the wet spots, an arm draped over his eyes as he catches his breath. It isn’t long before Lucio joins him, lying on top of him like an oversized cat. The musician litters kisses against his chest as the song fades away, then looks up, a grateful smile on his face, and–

There it is. Just a brief thing, like light off a dragonfly’s wings, but he sees it. A hint of a smirk from Hanzo Shimada, one that says you did well, and despite how annoying you can be, I want more.

That’s the best he can get out of him for now. But he’s getting better.

“Here,” Lucio says, voice soft from his cries. He presses the remote again. “You’ll like this one. John Cage, 4′33″.”

Hanzo huffs, but his arms wrap around Lucio regardless, resigned to listening to whatever moldy oldies he has in store. After a few moments, he picks up the remote, squints at it in the neon light. “I do not believe it is working.”

Lucio, ear tuned in to Hanzo’s heartbeat, smiles. “It is.”


	2. Chlorine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request requested by a friend on Tumblr. I'll take any excuse to write about tiny swimsuits!

“You’d look beautiful dripping wet.”

To which Hanzo replies, staring at him from behind jet black designer shades: “Am I not beautiful now?”

That takes McCree back a bit. He was expecting silence, at the very least, not a look as piercing as an arrow. Hanzo manages to look deadly even in a fire engine red Speedo, a book in his hands ( _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_ McCree’s never heard of it), lying on his back on a beach chair in the shade of a tent. Then it occurs to him: he didn’t say _go to hell, McCree_. Instead, he posed a valid question.

He figures he’s in over his head already, even though it’s only been a handful of words. Might as well keep going. “Well,” he ventures, leaning on his knees, “You are. But the hotel’s got a damn fine pool.” He sweeps an arm toward the gleaming water only a few feet away. “Thought you’d take advantage.”

A slim eyebrow rises over a dark lens.

“If it’s the sun that gits ya, don’t worry. We’ve all been burned. If you got some lotion, or if you wear a shirt–” _For once_ , he thinks–

Hanzo marks his spot in the book, wetting his fingers before curling down the corner of a page, before setting it aside. It seems to McCree that no human being can look graceful when beach chairs are involved, but.

Well.

That ass in red nylon is divine.

Now on his stomach, Hanzo scoops the ribbon in his hair off his back. “Do not make me wait all day.”

McCree knows an order when he hears one, and he’s more than willing to obey. He presses a palm against Hanzo’s back as he leans over the archer for the bottle of sunscreen to test his boundaries. No snapped insults, no warning grunts, not even a tensing muscle. So far it appears Hanzo has no issue with this.

There has to be a catch.

So McCree takes his time, though the thought of finally getting his hands on Hanzo is going straight to his groin. Slathering white cream across the archer’s shoulders doesn’t help. His inked skin is soft but the muscle beneath is firm. McCree has seen Hanzo split skulls in half with his bow, and to have all that strength pliable in his grasp… He kneels close, lips brushing the back of his neck. “Hanzo–”

“Doctor Ziegler says you have a crush on me,” Hanzo says. He spits _crush_ like a bug in his mouth, but remains still. “The entire team knows you do. _I_ know you do. So stop your infantile games and act like a man!”

McCree considers this for half a second. “Sure thing, partner.”

And yanks the red Speedo down Hanzo’s thighs.

The archer reacts instantly, turning to face him, features twisted with shock – still graceful, in McCree’s opinion – and the cowboy catches the palm aimed at his head. He’ll admit it: wrasslin’ with Hanzo has always been a fantasy of his, run so many times in his mind it takes little effort to keep him still; arms pinned together, legs spread apart. Despite the shades Hanzo’s look could kill, though his cheeks are pink…and not from the sun.

“You ever consider I was waitin’ for you to reciprocate?” McCree asks, blinking sweat from his eyes, “We’re both dangerous people and I sure as hell ain’t gonna force you to do something you don’t want. So you gotta choice here. You either step up, or tell me to fuck off. What’s it gonna be?”

After a moment, Hanzo speaks. “Close the tent.”

The archer _is_ next to naked and they _are_ in public so McCree gets up, pulls the drapes shut. Hanzo hasn’t fled or attempted to murder him. Instead…he looks downright embarrassed.

His erection has something to do with that. It’s better than McCree imagined. Slender yet long, rising from a mound of hair also starting to gray, Hanzo is paying as little attention to it as possible. By staring at McCree. Which isn’t helping.

It dawns on the cowboy like a light at the end of a tunnel. “You ever been with a man?”

“No.” 

McCree exhales, removing his hat. Kneeling, he sets his hand over Hanzo’s and offers a small smile. “Listen. We’re both dangerous people, but we’re also heroes. I ain’t gonna wrong ya. Whatever _you_ want, Shimada – that’s important to me.”

At first Hanzo has half a mind to swat the cowboy’s hand like an oversized mosquito (break a few bones, teach him a lesson), but the thought quickly fades. Heroes. He isn’t too keen on that. Not after what they’ve done. But if McCree insists on being accommodating – if he knows his place–

“I trust you as far as I can throw you.”

McCree smiles. “Enough for me to take care of that for ya?”

Hanzo flushes as red as his swimsuit. “Take it easy,” McCree continues, shifting to the foot of the chair. His mouth waters as the archer spreads his legs, leaning back on his elbows. “I’ll be gentle.”

He expects a quip for that, something like _I’m not made of glass_ or _save your Southern charm for someone who cares_ , but nothing happens. True to his word, McCree starts slowly, simply littering soft kisses to the head of Hanzo’s cock. He’s mindful of his prosthetic hand, using his metal fingers to coax the archer’s foreskin down. The air smells like sweat and coconut sunscreen and tropical flowers carried on the breeze.

“Jesse–” 

At that moment, McCree wants nothing more than to make this the best blowjob Hanzo’s ever gotten. The archer’s breath catches as the cowboy lifts his legs over his shoulders, steel heels scraping down his back. Clutching his hips and closing his eyes, he lets his tongue drift around the tip, saliva slipping down the shaft. He chases each trailing droplet until Hanzo’s cock is wet and slick and faintly throbbing. Then and only then does he go down on him, taking him in little by little until he can’t anymore. Stroking what he can’t take, the cowboy closes his eyes and focuses on bobbing his head, taking Hanzo as deep as he dares.

“ _Jesse_ –”

McCree looks up and nearly comes in his trunks. Hanzo’s _watching_ him, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, biting a finger to muffle himself. The archer’s skin shines with perspiration; a bead trickles obscenely slow between his pecs.

He knows what he’ll be masturbating to later tonight.

But for now, he takes Hanzo’s hand and sets it on his own head in encouragement. Groaning softly, it only takes a few thrusts into that clever mouth for him to find completion. It only takes a few seconds after that to realize he didn’t warn McCree, and he blinks the blur away to find the cowboy casually licking his lips, smirking.

Something in Hanzo’s chest tilts at an alarming angle before shattering into a thousand pieces.

“Hey.” McCree crawls to Hanzo’s side, cups his chin, and kisses him. It’s a big step, he knows, an honor to be allowed past layers of defense built when living as a criminal, to witness vulnerability, to be intimate–

Hanzo pushes him off. Gently. Frowning, cheeks red, wiping his chin. “You taste like…”

“Ah. Sorry, partner.” McCree gets up, adjusts his trunks – that’s a problem he’ll address later, though he hopes against hope Hanzo will have a solution to it himself – and offers his hand. “What do you say we go inside? I need a drink. I’ll buy you one too.”

Hanzo gives him that stare again, but it’s softer this time. Like he’s sizing up a butterfly instead of a beetle. Eventually he gives in to the sensation of falling. He can pick up the pieces later. Taking McCree’s hand, he says, “Very well.”


	3. Sextual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> putting your phone on silent is for nerds

<< _PING!_ >>

Force of habit makes Jesse answer the text that drops into his phone. Purely force of habit. It isn’t that he wants his teammates to see how Hanzo’s sprawled on their bed half a world away, nude as the day he was born, titanium alloy legs spread and a hand on his bare thigh. There _might_ be some moisture on the tip of one perky nipple, though it could be a trick of the light.

 _Deployment is dull_ , is the accompanying caption, and how Hanzo can fathom a word like _deployment_ with a full, heavy erection blows McCree’s mind.

“Jesse.”

It’s Zarya. Through the glow of the holographic map, the cowboy can see her displeased frown. “Sorry,” he mumbles, pocketing his phone. He doesn’t miss the faint flicker of amusement in her eyes before she returns to debriefing, drawing the target objective, listing attack plans, detailing escape options–

<< _PING!_ >>

Oh dear lord, that’s the green dildo. McCree’s familiar with it himself. Curved at the tip, which makes it a little awkward to insert, but heavenly against the prostate. It’s lying perfectly between Hanzo’s pecs, an inked hand holding it in place. 

_Not as pleasing as you_.

Hanzo is going to murder him before he even has a chance to be shot at–

“ _McCree_.”

“Important business, partner,” the cowboy assures her, shoving his phone back in his pocket. His pants are getting uncomfortable. “I’m listenin’. Keep goin’.”

<< _PING!_ >>

He’s not going to check. He’s not. Zarya’s losing her patience and Jesse is fairly sure she can rip off his arm and fist him with it if she’s mad enough. 

That…did not help his boner.

Fucking _Hanzo_.

<< _PING!_ >> << _PING!_ >>

_Fuck._


End file.
